


got a fire for a heart

by eyes_to_the_sky



Series: DamiJon Week 2018 [1]
Category: Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Bullying, Damijon Week 2018, Homophobic Language, Jondami Week 2018, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Overprotectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 08:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyes_to_the_sky/pseuds/eyes_to_the_sky
Summary: It was at this point, right outside his locker, cornered by the three biggest guys in school, that Jon reflected on how much hefucking hatedhigh school sometimes.





	got a fire for a heart

**Author's Note:**

> Day One: High school au
> 
> //Edited 18 July 2018

It was at this point, right outside his dented locker, cornered by the three biggest guys in school, that Jon reflected on how much he _fucking hated_ high school sometimes. 

At sixteen, Jon was a good couple inches shorter than the boys surrounded him, still all lanky figure with scruffy black hair and legs that went on for miles. And now, with a pair of large (fake) glasses shoved onto his nose and a worn satchel dangling from his fingers, Jon wishes not for the first time that he could be more like Damian in terms of intimidating, if only for the fact that it’d make cocky delinquents think twice before ambushing him in the hallway after class ends. He frowns a little and adjusts his bag on his shoulder as one of the lackeys spit at him. 

_Uncultured pigs_ , Jon thinks sourly, and then wonders whether he’s been spending too much time around Damian. 

Well, not really, he thinks reasonably as a second boy shoves him into the lockers with a clang. He winces, feels a swell of anger even as he hunches to make himself seem smaller. Damian would never have stood for this shit. 

“Well, well,” the leader says, and Jon inwardly rolls his eyes at the poor imitation of a Bond villain. “Look what we have here.” 

“I have something you need, Dylan? Not in the mood of this.” Jon says testily, glancing quickly at the hallway clock. Two minutes until he has to meet Damian outside, and he’s really praying that the boys’ll move on before he comes looking. Rao only knows how he’d deal with that disaster. 

“Watch your mouth, Kent,” Dylan snarls and follows up with a harder, meaner shove to Jon’s shoulder that makes him stumble. Jon’s mouth twists, heat vision flaring up in response, and he tamps it down with an inward curse as he struggles not to punch Dylan Hayes in his smug fucking face. His eyes dart around for an easy exit without escalating the situation, finding nothing but students scurrying past them with their heads down and the clock, slowly ticking away. Caught up in his thoughts, he jumps a little too much when Dylan leans too far into his personal space. 

“What, you looking forward to gettin’ your ass kicked today?” 

“Charming,” Jon snaps back on instinct and god, Damian really is rubbing off on him, “but unfortunately for you, I have other things to do.” 

He sidesteps the group, only to be flung immediately back into the lockers. His shoulder stings smartly and this time, he can’t suppress a low growl. 

“Aw, but we’re just talking,” Dylan mocks and Jon clenches his fingers around his bag strap. “Or are you late for a date with someone?” 

One of his sidekicks laughs a little. “Seriously? Who’d wanna date him?” 

“If this is your way of asking if I’m single, you’re really not my type,” Jon says without thinking and promptly regrets ever opening his mouth when the older boy’s face twists into something dark and ugly and hateful. Jon glances apprehensively towards the fist clenching by Hayes’ side, which pulls back and _swings_ —

And everything stops. 

Time slows down, the hands on the hallway clock unmoving, Dylan’s fist moving through the air so slow it looks like it’s moving through butter. 

Jon makes an annoyed sound as he eyes it warily, weighing his options. He’s fairly safe in saying he’s never quite been in this situation before. On one hand, using his superspeed would blow his cover, or at the very least get people very, very suspicious. On the other, he really, really doesn’t like just standing here and taking that punch. The corner of his mouth turns upwards slightly and his fist clenches as he imagines the look on the bullies’ faces if he dodged quicker than light, grabbed his arm, twisted and _heaved_ —

And then Jon stops, sighs in utter frustration and lets the tension seep from his body. Don’t give yourself away, he reminds himself sourly. He gives the oncoming fist one last resenting glance, before he drops his invulnerability and carefully removes himself from his superspeed. 

The hit comes a lot quicker than he expected. All he knows is that all of a sudden there’s a crack and a bloom of pain and suddenly Jon’s on the ground, the entire left side of his face throbbing something fierce. Unintentionally, he lets out a pained whine and squeezes his eyes closed, trying to will the pain away. His invulnerability flings itself up in instinctive response, far too late, and his eyes are ringing with the suddenness of being able to hear every squeak of shoes against linoleum. 

“Okay,” Jon grits out and rolls onto his back, eyes closed against the brightness of fluorescent lights. “Not my best idea.” 

Leaning up on an elbow, Jon spits out metallic blood onto the hallway floor and feels around his teeth gingerly with his tongue. He can already feel his cheek swelling and he thinks _fuck, that’s going to bruise_ as a shadow falls across him. 

“You like that, Jonny?” There’s a scattering of mean laughter above him as a scuffed pair of shoes enter Jon’s vision. Jon bares his teeth and refuses to look up as he licks blood off his lip. The tip of Dylan’s shoes nudge not-so-gently at Jon’s cheek and he has to fight the urge to punch the other boy straight in the teeth. “What’s wrong, Kent?” His voice is mocking, and the hallway has started to take on a familiar red tint, “—you too much of a faggot to take a punch?” and secret identity or not, he’s about to blast Hayes and his cronies across the _fucking country_ —

But he doesn’t get a chance, because a black and green blur of absolute fury bodyslams the unfortunate target and sends him flying at least halfway down the hallway. 

Jon coughs out a mouthful of blood and looks up to meet Damian’s incensed eyes, but the older boy’s hands are soft when they pull him to his feet and lean him against the lockers for stability. Jon spits out another wad of blood, tangles his fingers in Damian’s turtleneck sweater and breathes. 

Damian takes one look at Jon’s split lip and snarls, an animalistic, guttural thing that sounds nothing like Damian Wayne, charismatic son of multibillionaire Bruce Wayne, and Jon shivers. Damian twists as if to make his way over to where Dylan is groaning on the ground, leg strangely twisted, and Jon tightens his grip in the cashmere. 

“Dami,” he says lowly, cupping his cheek with his free hand. “Don’t. Not worth it.” 

Damian whips around. “The hell he isn’t.” He hisses, hot rage burning in his eyes. “The bastard’s looking to die—”

“No.” Jon snaps and tugs sharply again. Damian stops and Jon quiets his voice. “He’s not worth blowing our cover.” He glances around at the crowd of milling students and the teachers helping Daiman’s victim off the ground before his eyes turn back to Damian’s. “Not here.” 

Damian’s lip curls with disgust and for a moment, Jon’s honestly afraid that he’s about to pull free and attack the boy picking himself up off the ground and he’ll _never_ hear the end of it from his dad—

But then Damian clenches his jaw, pieces his persona back together shard by shard and lets tension seep from his shoulders. His fingers curl around Jon’s neck to tug him forward and press a hard kiss to his forehead. 

“He’ll pay,” Damian swears when he pulls back, and Jon grins at him. 

“Wasn’t expecting otherwise.” 

“Todd will want to join in.” 

“Please don’t actually kill him.” 

Jon doesn’t join them, of course, he doesn’t have that same vengeful streak that runs in Damian’s family and he doesn’t actually want to give his father reason to turn that ‘disappointed dad’ look at him, even if he’d understand. And if Dylan Hayes walks into school two days later with a punched in face and an arm broken in two places, jumping and shying every time he spots Jon around the corner, well. That’s no concern of his.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and feedback always appreciated!! if you wanna check me out, or just come over to yell about damijon or anything else, you're always free to come over and visit me at my tumblr @eyes-to-the-clouds to just pop into my messages!


End file.
